Costumes
by DamnI'mRandom
Summary: John becomes obsessed with The Fox by Ylvis, and he desperately needs to see Sherlock in a fox costume. Established Johnlock.


_Disclaimer:__ I own nothing. All rights belong to a) the Late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, b) the BBC, and c) Ylvis for __The Fox__. God, that song cracks me up._

…

A sip of piping hot tea and a few jammie dodgers stuffed hastily inside his mouth came flying out in a fit of hysterical giggles.

That had been his reaction the first time he saw it.

It wasn't supposed to be so funny – yet it was. It was funny and would remain so. No _way_ this was a serious venture.

Now, even though he'd seen it at least thirty times in the past three hours (yeah, he was bordering on obsessed), his reaction was the same – laughing until his stomach ached and he cried rivers of happiness.

And Sherlock had been watching from the sofa all this while, not saying a word, simply noticing the way John threw his head back and laughed, the way his eyes crinkled as his mirth subsided, the way his chest heaved as he gasped for breath after chuckling so hard, the way he licked his lips unconsciously after each viewing. He had never seen his partner (in every sense of the word) laugh so much and for so long, and he was loving it.

'John?' came his voice from the sofa after John had finished watching it for the thirty-first time. 'Are you alright?'

'Yeah,' John choked, still shaking with silent laughter. 'Yeah, fine.'

'Are you sure?'

'Sherlock,' John said, wiping tears from his eyes and looking across the room towards his lover. 'You have _got_ to take a look at this.'

'What, at _that_?' Sherlock sniffed. 'I think I'll pass.'

'Oh, come on,' his lover coaxed. 'You'll see why I love it.'

'You _love_ it?' Sherlock asked, offended.

'You know what I mean.' Sherlock hauled himself off the sofa and onto John's lap.

'Okay, so what is it that you're going to be showing me, exactly?'

'Wait and watch, love. All in good time.'

'I thought we agreed on the no-nickname policy.'

'When did we do that?'

'On Wednesday.'

'I was in _Zurich_ on Wednesday. I'd told you I'd be gone for a conference.'

'Oh yes. That's why you brought so many of those Swiss cow bells back. I was wondering what use they'd be to us. At any rate, I'd heard you agree. So there.' He squirmed a bit on John's lap, trying to find a comfortable position.

'Git.' John smiled affectionately, ruffling the man's hair. It drove Sherlock _nuts_, and not the good kind.

He pressed play, and music filled the room yet again.

'John...' Sherlock said nervously. He had a strange feeling about this.

'Shh.'

As soon as the song started – _"Dog goes woof, cat goes meow, bird goes tweet..."_

'What _is_ this?' Sherlock asked, genuinely baffled.

'Shush!'

"_... but there's one sound that no-one knows... What does the fox say?"_

'Seriously, John? Why are you making me watch this rubbish?'

'Because it's _funny_!'

'What the man is stating is so _glaringly_ obvious, it's ridiculous.'

'That's the point!'

'That they make a fool of themselves by saying "cow goes moo" and "bird goes tweet"? Come on,' Sherlock scoffed.

'Sherlock.'

_'What_?' He was exasperated now.

'It's supposed to _be_ ridiculous, it's _supposed_ to make you laugh! That's why I made you watch it. I know the Scoffield case took a heavy toll on you. You needed to _relax._'

'Oh.'

'Oh is right.'

'Well, in that case, thank you very much.' He kissed his boyfriend sloppily on the chin.

'Mmh, you're very welcome.' John aligned himself so that their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. They kissed hungrily before John pulled away suddenly and said, 'Wait, wait. You haven't seen the best part yet!'

'There's more left?' Sherlock sighed.

'Only a little.'

'Oh, thank heavens.'

They had reached the part where the fox does his mini-solo. Sherlock burst out laughing when he heard it.

'This – has _got_ to be – the most – _insane – _thing – I have – ever seen!' He cried between laughs.

And John grinned ferally.

'Come to think of it, you'd look sexy in that fox costume...' he mused.

Sherlock stopped laughing.

'I know a place that sells animal costumes of all kinds,' he supplied eagerly. 'The owner of the shop owes me a small favour.'

'Will he have a fox costume?'

'She, it's a she. Yes, didn't I say all kinds? Ranging from cute to kinky.'

John practically drooled as he pictured Sherlock in a naughty bunny costume.

'You have an imaginative mind, Doctor Watson,' Sherlock said mischievously, licking his lips and glancing seductively at his boyfriend.

'Did you say she owes you a favour?'

'Yes.'

'How _many_ people owe you favours?' John asked, incredulous.

'Hmm, I lost count after one hundred and seven.'

'Really.'

'Really.'

'How long ago was that?'

'2005.'

'So more than five hundred people in London owe you favours.'

'It would seem so, yes.'

'Show-off.'

'You asked for it.'

'Okay then.' John whistled appreciatively. 'Call in that favour. We need to get you into that fox costume.'

...

The costume was delivered to their doorstep the very next morning (the owner, Donna, was very enthusiastic) and donned in bed that same afternoon.

'Sh – Sherlock,' John stuttered as his lover entered him after an extended, 'animalistic' foreplay. He cried in pleasure, sounding more animal than human.

'Yes, love?' Sherlock panted, feeling John's white-hot heat all around him.

'You have to try on the cat costume next time.'

They settled into a brisk rhythm, both moaning loudly as waves of ecstasy rolled over them.

'No, John,' Sherlock began, but then he hit _that_ spot and it sent John reeling, making him come very loudly, very long and very hard. Sherlock himself came not long after, and they collapsed in a heap on the bed.

'I won't be the one wearing cat ears next time. You will,' he completed, feeling utterly spent. He smiled tiredly.

'We'll see about that.' John smirked back at him.

...

_Thoughts?_


End file.
